


Bitter

by velocity_times_2



Series: Better Than Espresso [1]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Disaster Gays, Light Angst, M/M, Starbucks, Tutoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 14:48:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18252011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velocity_times_2/pseuds/velocity_times_2
Summary: Race is a barista and a genius, Albert is horrible at physics and social interactions.“Fuck off,” the redhead said, shooting Race a look that would have made him nervous had he not known backup was one shout away in the stock room. Shoving the last of his notes in his bag and standing up the guy shouldered past Race, “No one asked you.” And with that it was just Jack, obliviously making next week’s schedule, Race who felt like he had been gut punched, and Kenny, who was dozing off in one of the armchairs.Happy finals week, one and all.Or I was prompted to write a coffee shop Ralbert and now it's a multi part monolith of boys falling in love.





	Bitter

**Author's Note:**

> So this was a fic exchange with writing-makes-me-antsy over on Tumblr and I'm so happy she made me put my foot into writing Newsies fics! Now I have this behemoth to finish.... so here we go!

          Working at a Starbucks was hell.

          Race would know, because it was how he kept himself alive on ramen for the past two years. Jack had gotten him the interview in high school and it had been easy enough to transfer to a new store on the other side of the city when college had begun for the both of them.

            The cliental that came through their doors was a variety show. College kids curing hangovers, moms with kids in strollers, nannies with kids in strollers, kids _alone_ what the hell even?, the every present suited up businessman who was too busy to give his order in one complete sentence, girls, guys, people who were both, people who were neither, and once even, an actual cast of a variety show.

            Race had severed movie stars and crack heads and everyone in the middle of that particular spectrum. The hours sucked, the compensation was worse, and he only got one smoke break per four hours.

            But it’s what he had, so he dealt with the crack heads and the venti cups of just whipped cream. It’s how you lived when the world hadn’t handed you a trust fund in New York City. As others left caffeinated, your energy was slowly drained away. It was the nature of the beast.

            Wednesdays were Race’s favorite day because even though he was closing, he got to close with Jack, so it wasn’t the worst thing ever. They usually spent the last two hours goofing off and shutting their eyes pumping whatever flavors they could reach into a cup and making the other drink it (don’t tell the district manager, though), because it was so quiet. Wednesdays at eleven in the evening were a ghost town, even in the city that never slept. You had to entertain yourself somehow.

            This particular Wednesday in the dredge that was winter between Thanksgiving and Christmas, the store was even quieter than usual, as finals had picked up and everyone who was drinking coffee this late took their drinks to go to the library to terrorize Ms. Hannah and her no-non-water-bottle policy.

           The universe was laughing at them, too, keeping the temperatures barely above freezing so that there wasn’t snow, just rain that stung when you walked through it. Race was dozing off in an attempt to read the pages of his history textbook while Jack yawned and restocked the cooler between customers when the door opened to a freezing gust of wind and a boy walked through.

            Race knew all the usuals in their small area of the city and knew the guy and what he typically came in to order. He had red hair that was hidden under a blue beanie today and he always had a lazy posture about him, as if the world was something to just glide through.

          Today, though, the guy’s shoulders were hunched up by his ears and he didn’t smile at Race like he normally had in the past.

            Instead of letting the customer speak first, Race just grabbed a cup and began scribbling on it. He waved the guy off and instead of greeting or confirmation just said, “I’ll bring it to ya.” Jack was in the back and if Race gave his free drink of the night to a guy who looked like he needed it more than him, well, no one would know otherwise.

            He could just hear Blink and Mush chanting the word gay over and over in the back of his mind as he began to make the drink.

            Three shots of espresso over chai, two pumps vanilla, steamed almond milk, and a shot of peppermint to finish it off. Surprisingly it was a simple order for this section of the city. Once, Race had seen a receipt so long that it made even his sugar-loving brain spin. A dirty chai with a couple extras was a cake-walk.

            The boy had set up shop in the corner away from the cold of the windows and front door, already having spread out books and papers and his laptop in the short time it took Race to fix his drink. When he saw Race walk over he pulled out his wallet in an attempt to hand over a few crumbled bills and Race waved him off.

            “But I-“ the guy began and Race set the cup down a little more forcefully than was probably necessary.

            “Don’t worry about it, I get a free one anyhows.”

* * *

             It was a few hours later and Race could tell Jack was itching to get the hell out of the shop. “What?” He asked while they cleaned the espresso machines and took inventory of what was left in the fridges under the counters, “You excited to get back to your lit three essay?”

            Jack bounced on his feet a few times, tossing the last of the dirty dish rags into a bin to be washed, “Nah, Davey just promised to come around tonight is all.” At the mention of his recently acquired boyfriend, Jack’s cheeks flushed. Race rolled his eyes and threw his one final dirty rag at his friend. Jack caught it in midair.

            “You lucky lovebird, you, some of us are living in the land of singledom.” Jack rolled his eyes, knowing just as well as Race did that he wasn’t exactly trying to cure his singledom, either. “Rock, paper, scissors for kicking out the stragglers like normal?” Race suggested, holding out his fist. Jack nodded and through some sleight of hand, Race was sure, he won.

            “God, fuck me,” Race mumbled and used his long legs to hop over the counter instead of going the long way around. Jack began to tell him off for it before giving up halfway through a reprimand, knowing his Managerial Voice wouldn’t work on someone he’d known since childhood.

            The only people left in the building were Kenny, a local homeless guy that Jack let mooch off them for heat, and the redhead. Race decided that the redhead was an easier first target and made his way over to the table that had become engulphed in the guy’s stuff.

            “Hey,” Race said as he approached and the guy’s head snapped to attention even though he had earbuds in, “we’re getting ready to close so…”

            The guy’s eyes flitted over to the clock on his computer and he cursed under his breath. “Jesus,” he continued, “I’m so sorry I didn’t realize how late…” he began to quickly shuffle papers around and stuff them in his bag, “These problems are just, slaughtering me.” He gestured to a book that Race recognized and suddenly his interest was piqued.

            “Physics one with Hoffman? That class was a cakewalk!” Race realized a second too late that bragging about how he had flown through a class was the wrong thing to do when a finals-addled, sleep deprived boy was in front of you. “I, uh,” Race backpaddled, feeling his face grow hot like it always did when he said something out of line, “I could help if you need it-“

            “Fuck off,” the redhead said, shooting Race a look that would have made him nervous had he not known backup was one shout away in the stock room. Shoving the last of his notes in his bag and standing up the guy shouldered past Race, “No one asked you.” And with that it was just Jack, obliviously making next week’s schedule, Race who felt like he had been gut punched, and Kenny, who was dozing off in one of the armchairs.

            Happy finals week, one and all.

* * *

 

            The next morning came too fast, and Race had to remind himself it was because he had only slept a total of three hours and the human body needed much more rest than that (according to Crutchie). He hadn’t thought of these particularly important facts when he offered to cover Elmer’s shift two days ago, though, and so opening the store he had just closed was now his reality.

            As they went through the routine of unlocking and counting drawers out and beginning the brews, Race made himself a quad shot latte and downed it in double time, needing the caffeine to spark his body back into motion.

            By the time they opened the rain had begun again and the entire atmosphere was one of dreary days and, apparently, apathy towards the boys making your morning cup. By eight, Race had been screamed at no less than four times for a wrong order even though he was just following the instructions Jojo was putting into the register. There was a good chance Jojo was still drunk from the night before, though, so who could really be at fault here?

           It was finals week.

            Race didn’t blame him.

            They had just switched off, Jojo to go to break and Race taking over the register, when he walked in. His red hair was damp from the rain and he looked worse than Race felt. He didn’t look up from his phone the entire wait in line and kept his eyes downcast when he got to the register, mouth opening and beginning to recite an order.

            “Grande triple shot-“

            “Dirty chai with almond milk, two vanilla and one peppermint,” Race finished, already scribbling the details on a cup to pass down the line to Romeo. At the sound of Race’s voice, the guy finally looked up and his eyes widened in recognition.

            “What are you doing here?”

            “Working,” Race replied, an apology for his doucheyness the night before already on his tongue when the guy slapped down the exact change for his drink and stalked off to the other side of the store.

Race put a smile he didn’t know was missing back on his face and greeted the next person in line even though he wanted to put his brain through the coffee grinder. He wasn’t exactly sure why he would do that, but the inclination was there for the rest of his shift.

* * *

 

            Two days later it was Saturday and Race was feeling refreshed after having a full Friday. He had finished his history essay, made some bombass flashcards for both of his major finals, and had even had time to binge the last few episodes of _The Good Place_ before falling into a vodka induced coma by midnight.

            If that wasn’t a perfect Friday night, Racetrack Higgins didn’t know what was.

            He even had been able to puppy pout his way into a later shift with Jack, so when he got to work at one, he had already had two full meals and slept in. He was the king of New York City as far as he was concerned. Sometimes a good night’s sleep is all that you need, really. It was possible that Cruthie was on to something.

            And to not be yelled at over an Americano, but, small details.

            Entering the store, he gave a cursory glance around and noticed the redhead had already taken up his spot in the back corner. Race was glad the guy was entranced by his physics enough that he was able to slip behind the counter and tie his apron on without getting caught.

            Getting caught doing what, Race wasn’t exactly sure.

            “Hey,” Finch greeted him by handing over a cup with the name _Albert_ scrawled on the side, “the guy in the corner was asking if you’d be in. You know him or do I call the police?”

            “I’m, uh,” Race took the cup and twisted it around in his hands a few times before meeting Finch’s curious eye, “I’m not sure yet.”

            Race made his way over to the table and placed the cup on it by reaching over the redhead’s shoulder. He looked up and met Race’s eyes with a look of relief that Race had not been expecting.

            “Oh, hi,” he said after tugging out his earbuds and placing a hand around the cup.

            “Hi,” Race replied, suddenly at a loss for to do with his hands without a cup to occupy them, “I want to, uh, want to-“

            “Don’t,” the guy held a hand up and took a long drink from his cup before lowering it to continue talking. Somehow Race waited that long before stuttering something and he should probably tell Jack because that’s a damn first, “I was rude, you’re apparently smart according to that TA of Hoffman’s, please help me.” The words were laced with a plea and Race felt himself blushing out a reflex of getting called good at what he did.  

            “I have to work,” Race said, glancing back at an overwhelmed Finch who was taking orders and attempting to fill them all alone.

            It wasn’t going well.

            “But,” Race continued and grabbed the cup out of the guy – Albert’s – hand and took out the sharpie he always kept in his back pocket at work and scrawled his name and phone number on the cup, “I get off at six and we can work then.”

            With an overwhelming sense of relief in his eyes Albert stood and shoved his laptop and the book into his backpack and stood up.

            “I’ll so owe you one if I can get anything above a fifty in this class,” Albert said, and Race was kind of delighted to learn that standing so close, Albert was just enough shorter that Race could look down at him. He wasn’t sure why that information was important just yet, but it made him happy all the same.         

            “Just as long as you don’t pay your debts off in coffee,” Race said with a smile as he backed towards an increasingly panicking Finch.

            “I can think of something better than that,” Albert countered, and with those words he turned and left out the side door.

            Race was really looking forward to learning what that something might be.

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me and send me prompts on my Tumblr: @velocitytimes2


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